Her Diamonds
by WriteChristineR
Summary: When Beckett takes a day off of work, Castle senses that something isn't quite right.  Can he solve the mystery?
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I still don't own any of the Castle stuff. Oh, and the title is a reference to a song by Rob Thomas, which I also do not own. And if you know the song... I can neither confirm nor deny any significance that the title might have. If I've got you curious now, just read the story. I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually._

_Author's Note: I wrote this at least a couple of weeks ago, and I finally decided it was time to post it. I'm being totally flooded with ideas lately, and I've decided that writing a few different stories at once isn't a bad thing, since this way I can write whichever story I'm feeling most inspired for at the moment. :) If you're keeping track, I'm up to three in-progress chapter stories right now. *is slighty impressed with self* The challenge will come with keeping updates for all of them coming fairly regularly. As long as I'm still on break from school, I think it's totally doable. But let's keep this about this story, since that's what you're about to read. As a whole, at least the whole of what I've written so far, I'm actually pretty proud of it. So I hope you like it at least as much as I do. :) And I'll try to chill a little on the author's notes because I tend to get excited and blabber. You can start reading now. :)_

* * *

It was one of those rare days in early spring when the sun was out and the air was warm. Warmer today, in fact, than it had been in months. The change in weather was even more welcome because for the past week it had been raining: a miserable, cold drizzle that never seemed to let up completely.

But now that was over, at least for the moment, and Castle had an extra spring in his step as he made his way from his car to the precinct. It was a beautiful day, he'd slept exceptionally well the night before, and he'd taken Alexis out for breakfast before school, three things that added up to a really good mood.

At the top of the elevator he went directly to the break room and made two lattes, one for himself and one for Beckett, and headed for her desk. It was vacant. He set the coffees down, looking around for her. It was later than it usually was when he arrived. She should be here.

He poked around her desk a little and didn't see any of her things. No unfinished reports or evidence files lay on the surface. If he didn't know better (which, surely, he did), he would've thought she hadn't been here at all yet today.

He didn't see her anywhere, but he did see Ryan and Esposito across the room, so he went to join them.

"Castle?" he was greeted by a confused Esposito. "What are you doing here?"

He frowned, taken aback. Had Esposito really just asked him that? "What do you mean what am I doing here? Where's Beckett?"

"She's not coming in today, bro. Taking a personal day."

"Didn't she tell you that?" Ryan asked, unhelpfully.

Castle glanced from Esposito to Ryan and back, trying and, for once, failing to connect the dots. "A personal day? _Beckett?"_

Ryan shrugged. "Seemed weird to me too, but she called Montgomery and that's what she told him. He was all for it. Said she works hard and deserves a break."

"And he's right," Esposito put in. "She does."

"I'm just saying, where's my 'personal day'?"

"So she's not going to be here at all?" Castle asked, a little dejected by the fact that not only was Beckett not here, but she hadn't bothered to tell him she wasn't planning on coming in.

"Not today," Ryan replied. "But you can shadow us if you're looking for something to do."

Castle almost laughed. "Thanks for the offer, but I have some work of my own." He remembered the lattes he'd left on Beckett's desk. "You guys want coffee?"

"Sure," Esposito said, and Ryan nodded.

Castle went back to Beckett's desk and grabbed the mugs, and then handed them to the boys before getting back on the elevator.

Montgomery and Esposito were absolutely right. Kate Beckett worked harder than any cop here, and she deserved to take a personal day every once in awhile. The thing that didn't connect in his head was that the Kate Beckett that he'd known for two years now wouldn't. She was fantastic at her job, but she could be a little bit of a workaholic. She had the feeling that if she missed a day of work that she wasn't supposed to, the world was going to end, or at least a murderer would go uncaught. To Beckett the two were similar.

All Castle knew for sure was that something didn't feel right. Maybe it was because she hadn't told him. She knew he was planning to be there, he was there almost every day that she worked, which was almost every day. If she'd known yesterday that she'd be taking the day off, she could have just mentioned it to him then. Even if she hadn't decided until this morning, she should have called him.

He wasn't angry exactly, just confused. Maybe even a little bit worried. He decided to call her, just a quick buzz to make sure everything was okay, and then he would leave her alone to do whatever it was she'd taken off work today to do. It would put his mind at ease, and then maybe he could get some writing done. He wasn't as far on his next Nikki Heat novel as he knew he should've been by now, and it wouldn't hurt to spend his own "personal day" working on it.

He got to his car and called her cell phone. It went straight to voicemail. Her phone wasn't turned on? If he couldn't understand Beckett taking the day off, the fact that she would turn off her cell phone, cutting off her ability to get calls from work if she was needed, floored him.

"Hey, it's me, Rick," he said after the beep. "Uh, the boys said you were taking a personal day, and I just wanted to call and verify that story." He tried to keep his tone light despite the unease that was starting to build up inside of him. "Call me back when you get a chance."

When she didn't answer her phone, his writer's brain kicked into overdrive, imagining scenarios that made the pieces he didn't understand fit together. None of them were good. Maybe a mass gunman was holding her hostage and had turned off, maybe even destroyed her phone so that she would be unable to get in touch with anyone who might help her. He had a little bit of experience being held hostage by a serial killer, and it was not fun. This was the theory that made the most sense. The criminal forced her to call off work to avoid suspicion, and she'd called it a "personal day" knowing that the people she worked with would find it weird, and hoping, praying that they would investigate further.

Other theories had been spinning inside his head as well, but by the time he'd thought this one the whole way through he was so freaked out that he couldn't give any kind of thought to anything else. He got out of his car and went immediately back to the precinct, running up the stairs two at a time instead of taking the elevator.

He passed Ryan and Esposito and nodded to them, but then went straight to Montgomery's office. He was greeted the same way by the captain as he'd been by Esposito. "Castle, what are you doing here?"

"I know, I know," he panted, "Beckett took the day off. The boys told me. But doesn't that seem weird to you? If she really needed a personal day, wouldn't she have told us yesterday? And when has Kate Beckett _ever_ taken a personal day? I tried to call her but her cell phone's off. I'm worried something's wrong."

"Ever think maybe she just doesn't want to talk to anybody?" Captain Montgomery asked, calm as ever.

"I could understand not answering, but turning her phone off? It's not like her."

Ryan and Esposito appeared in the doorway, apparently curious what Castle was doing here again. "What's going on?" Ryan asked. "Castle, why are you back? I thought you had things to do."

"Beckett's cell phone is turned off," he said to Ryan. "Tell me that's not weird."

"I am a trained detective," Montgomery reminded him, looking wearied. "If she was really in trouble, don't you think I would've been able to tell?"

"But Sir—"

The captain interrupted him. "Castle. Beckett will be fine. Come back tomorrow. She'll be here and everything will be right back to normal. I can promise you that. Now if the three of you don't mind, I have work to do."

Defeated, he walked out of the office, flanked by the two detectives. When they were out of earshot, he turned around to face both of them and muttered, "Is it just me, or does he know something I don't?"

"I don't know man, if he does it's lost on us too." Esposito looked to his partner for confirmation.

Ryan nodded. "No idea."

"Am I the only one here who feels like something's not right?

"What do you want us to do, Castle? We're at work, in case you're forgetting, and the boss says leave it alone."

Ryan was not helping, so Castle looked to his partner. "Esposito?"

"Sorry bro. Ryan's right. Besides, I trust the chief, and he says everything's fine. Tomorrow you can bug Beckett to tell you what she was doing if you're really so curious."

"Fine," Castle conceded, turning toward the elevator. Esposito did have a point. If Montgomery really knew more than they did, he should've been reassured.

"The coffee was good," Ryan called as he walked away.

He turned back and smiled, acknowledging his friend before pressing the elevator button.

But as he rode the elevator back down to the first floor, Castle couldn't shake the feeling of unease that seemed to be gnawing at his insides. In truth, what Montgomery had said hadn't reassured him much at all. Something about his tone had seemed off, and Castle hadn't missed the fact that Montgomery had said "Beckett _will be_ fine," not "Beckett _is_ fine." Maybe Ryan and Esposito were right and he was reading too much into this, but he knew he would never get any writing or, God, _thinking_ done until he knew for sure.

* * *

_Bit of a cliffhanger there, I know. Sorry about that. Sort of. Anyway, reviews make me incredibly happy, so if you leave a few I'll love you forever. :) I'll try to reply to some of them, but I'm not at home right now and when I'll have internet access next is questionable, so I make no promises, except that I'll read and totally appreciate every single one._


	2. Chapter 2

Instead of going home, he went to the morgue. He walked in like he was supposed to be there, and found Lanie with a body. "Castle?" she greeted him, if you could really call it a greeting. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You too? I'm getting a little tired of hearing that today."

"Then maybe you should stop showing up places unexpected."

"I'm assuming you know why Beckett didn't come to work," he said, cutting to the chase. He wasn't feeling patient enough to drag this out, and besides, directness worked well with Lanie.

"I can't guarantee that I'd tell you if I did know, but to be honest I was just as surprised as you," she replied. "I texted her this morning to see if she wanted to meet me for lunch and she told me then."

Castle frowned, not sure whether he should be relieved that Lanie had had some contact with Kate today or concerned because her best friend didn't even know what was going on with her. "She answered you?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't she?"

"I tried calling her earlier and it went straight to voicemail."

"That's odd." Lanie studied some test result she'd printed out, so that Castle wasn't entirely sure whether her comment referred to what he'd said or what she was looking at. She looked up at him. "She probably just doesn't want to be bothered. Beckett gets in these moods sometimes where she doesn't want to talk to anyone. I'm sure you've noticed that."

"Yeah, but in the middle of the week? When she's supposed to be at work? She takes her job way too seriously to be completely unreachable."

"Maybe."

Castle bristled, annoyed by Lanie's nonchalance. Why was he the only one who cared? "Well, what if something happened?" he asked her.

Lanie tilted her head to one side and raised her eyebrows, more than a little patronizing. "Like what?"

"Like she's being held at gunpoint and they took her phone."

"Wow. Beckett's right. You _are_ annoying."

"Helpful comments like that make me feel so much better."

"I'm not trying to make you feel better. And even if I didn't think your little theory was crazy, which it is, what good do think I'm gonna do? I'm an M.E."

Castle considered. She had a point. He wouldn't allow even his imagination, over-active though it might be, go to a place where the expertise of Lanie's career would be useful. What he was hoping would help was the expertise she'd gained from being Beckett's best friend. "So you're siding with Ryan and Esposito? Everything's fine, Kate's just taking a well-deserved day off, and I'm totally overreacting?" Lanie was nothing if not brutally honest, and part of him wanted her to say yes, exactly. She knew Beckett at least as well as he did, and if she could tell him this, he might almost believe it.

She sighed and answered him seriously. "Honestly? I don't know that everything's fine, but you are overreacting."

"Well, I'm ready for your theories."

"I don't know, Castle. I really don't. She seemed just fine when I saw her yesterday, but you're right, it's not like her to miss work."

Finally he felt like they were getting somewhere. "I guess she called Montgomery this morning," he told her, realizing that she probably hadn't heard this. "Said she was taking a personal day. He told me she'd be fine and that everything would be back to normal tomorrow, but he seemed like he knew something."

Lanie frowned. "What's that about?"

Castle nodded. "Right. What would she tell him that she wouldn't tell you, or that I wouldn't be able to figure out?" There was something odd about building theory with Lanie about Beckett, but if it would help him figure out what was going on, he was willing to try anything.

"There's plenty you wouldn't be able to figure out, but what she would tell him and not me I have _no_ idea."

Castle was so preoccupied he chose to ignore the first part of her statement. He hesitated, trying to come up with a story, as he always did, that made everything make sense. But try as he might, he couldn't do it. Usually if he and Beckett were stuck on a case it was because they didn't have enough information, but this was different. It was like he had too much, and he couldn't get it all to line up. Over the last two years, he had made it his mission to study Kate, to understand every nuance of who she was, what she did, and why. He knew he still didn't know everything about her, but he did know a lot of things. Every time he almost had something, he would remember a detail that made the whole thing implausible. It was frustrating to say the least. "I've got nothing," he finally told Lanie.

She shrugged. "Ask her tomorrow. And if you find out before I do, let me know because you've got me curious."

He sighed. Curious. Ask her tomorrow. For a while there he'd thought Lanie was going to be more helpful than Ryan and Esposito had been, but apparently not. "Will you tell me if you find out first?"

She raised an eyebrow. "No."

"Then how can you expect me to do the same?" Castle shot back. It came out closer to a snap than he'd intended. Lanie was obviously trying to help, to some extent, but his patience was waning.

"Come on, Castle. Beckett's my girl. It's possible she'll tell me what's up and ask me _not_ to tell you, and if that happens I'm gonna respect her wishes. If you manage to pry it out of her, she won't care if I know."

Castle rolled his eyes, irritated that Lanie was probably right. "Fine. We'll see." He banged out of the morgue, leaving Lanie shaking her head. But he had no intention of waiting until tomorrow to get his information.

* * *

_Happy Castle day! :)_

_To everyone who reviewed the first chapter: thank you so much! I think I managed to reply to almost all of them last night... I was feeling ambitious. I loooove reviews. They totally make my day. And I wanted to let you guys know how much I honestly appreciate it. Unfortunately I can't reply to every single review all the time... it takes awhile... which is why I tend to leave rambling author's notes with my chapter updates. Anyway, thank you again! And I'm glad you seem to like it so far, even if you're frustrated with me for what I described as "a bit of a cliffhanger." Heehe. Admittedly, maybe it was more than a bit of one._

_I did promise people that I would update today, and so you have it. Unfortunately it doesn't really help with the whole cliffhanger thing. Heh heh. *sadistic grin* Hope you enjoy it anyway. I had fun writing Lanie._

_To those of you trying to guess what Beckett's up to: I appreciate the enthusiasm, and by all means, keep trying, but do you really think I'm going to tell you? Because I'm not. I feel much more powerful leaving you in suspense. Mwahaha. You'll find out soon enough. I guess "soon enough" is a relative term... but it won't be long. :)_


	3. Chapter 3

He tried calling her again when he got to his car, but again it went right to voicemail. He didn't bother leaving another message, but tossed his phone onto the empty passenger seat and started driving.

Almost before he realized where he was even going, he was at her apartment. It wasn't until he parked that it occurred to him that he might be overstepping a little here. Showing up at her apartment unannounced. If she was even here, he would surely be greeted, at the very least, with his fourth "What are you doing here?" of the day.

He found her car in the parking lot, so it was more than likely that she was here. But then he had another thought. What if she wasn't alone? She was dating someone now, he reminded himself. What if that goddamned motorcycling surgeon was here with her?

But he couldn't get Montgomery's voice out of his head, the line that was meant to be reassuring but was continually tormenting him: "Beckett will be fine." _Will be_.

He called one more time, deciding that he'd feel a little better about appearing there if he at least tried to announce himself. He wasn't surprised when he got her voicemail again, but this time he left a message, number two for the day. "Beckett," he began, realizing he felt a little like he was supplying the greeting that was missing. "You never called me back, so I'm just going to stop over there for a minute to make sure everything's okay." He left out the part that he was already in the parking lot. If she'd actually turned off her phone she wasn't going to get the message anyway, at least not before he got there.

He wanted to sprint up the stairs to her apartment, but he purposely slowed himself down, not knowing what he'd find, and not wanting to seem too panicked if he was, in fact, overreacting. After all, he had no proof that anything was really wrong, besides the gnawing feeling in his gut.

When he got to her door he found it closed, which wouldn't have surprised him, but no light leaked out around the frame as if no one was home. He first knocked politely, but when after a few long minutes she still didn't answer, he knocked again, louder, with more urgency. Still no answer.

"Beckett?" he called, still knocking. "Kate? I know you're in there," he lied. He'd seen her car, but she could've taken the subway or walked somewhere, especially since it was so nice outside. But his instinct, combined with all of the facts he was able to put together, told him she'd be inside. "Beckett! Kate, come on, answer the door. Answer the door and I promise I'll leave." If there was a gunman in there, he was very quiet. When Castle stopped knocking and calling briefly, he heard no sound from inside. "I'm not leaving until I know you're okay," he threatened. "I'll stand out here being annoying until tomorrow morning if I have to. Your neighbors are going to hate you." He paused again. Still no sound. He was beginning to think that maybe she wasn't home. But his stubbornness joined forces with his concern and he kept trying. "Don't think I won't do it, Beckett. You know better than to underestimate my childishness." His heart skipped a beat, because he thought he heard something coming from inside. It was very faint, but could it have been… a sigh?

Yes, that was almost certainly what it was, because immediately following it he heard another sound, also faint, but unmistakable: footsteps. And then a voice: Beckett's, and yet somehow not Beckett's at all. "Castle, I'm fine. _Please_ go away."

But she wasn't fine. Her voice was wrong. Raw. Strained. Too high-pitched. Too nasal. He'd seen her cry, and then he had seen her _cry_, when she'd shot her mother's killer, but this was different. There was a weakness in her voice, a vulnerability unlike anything he had ever heard from her before. And frankly, it terrified him. "Just open the door," he said softly, begging. "Please."

"No."

"I won't leave," he warned again.

"You said I had to answer the door," she said, sounding very tired. "I did."

"I also said I had to know you're okay. I'm not convinced."

He would never have expected that comment to be the one that swayed her. It wasn't very well thought-out, or even particularly persuasive. But he figured he must have worn her down, because he heard the door unlock, and then slowly it opened. When he saw her, he almost wished it hadn't.

Her face was red, blotchy and swollen, especially around her eyes. She'd been crying, and for awhile. Even now her bloodshot eyes weren't completely dry. She wore no makeup at all, something he had never seen before, and her hair hung down, un-brushed. But what struck him most of all was how _small_ she looked, and it wasn't just because her customary heels were missing. She normally had a kind of strength, a power and assertiveness that made her presence felt without her consciously doing anything. This was gone, and Castle stared at the floor, feeling like he'd seen something he shouldn't have.

He was two parts upset and one part angry. Who had done this to her? His first thought was the damn motorcycle-riding surgeon, but he realized that this was Beckett, not his mother or even Alexis. He wouldn't have pegged her for the kind of woman that would get this upset over a guy, certainly not enough so to miss work. It had to be something else. But what?

"What happened?" He hoped he sounded more confused than worried, but he wasn't aware enough of himself at this moment to know exactly what his tone was doing.

"Nothing."

"You really think I'm gonna believe that?"

"It's true."

"Well then, what…?" He tried to reach out to her, but she backed away. He sighed. "What's wrong?"

She conceded, opening the door a little further and nodding for him to follow her into the dark apartment. He did, finally settling on the couch beside her, but far enough away to give her some space, which she clearly wanted. A moment passed in silence. He resolved not to say anything, to let her tell him whatever it was that she was going to tell him when she was ready. Just the fact that he was here, he could see her, he knew that she was okay, at least physically, and she wasn't alone, made him feel a little better. But every time he looked at her face he realized that a little better wasn't enough.

She finally swallowed and attempted to steel herself. He saw that she was trying to make eye contact with him and allowed it, although looking deeply into her watery, bloodshot eyes was causing him almost physical pain.

"Today is the anniversary of my mother's death."

She'd tried to say it matter-of-factly, but her voice broke before she got to the end of the sentence.

Castle found that he could no longer hold the eye contact that had been difficult for him to begin with. The puzzle pieces slid together perfectly in his mind, and he emotionally kicked himself for not having been able to figure it out.

"Kate, I'm so—" he began.

She held up a hand, stopping him. "Don't."

He caught a fresh tear rolling down her cheek. He wanted desperately to comfort her, but she wouldn't let him, either with words or actual contact, the only two mechanisms he had available.

"Not a day goes by that I don't think about her," she began.

"I know," Castle said gently.

"But one day a year I give in and fully allow myself to grieve. I don't talk to anyone, and I have as little contact as possible with the outside world. I spend the whole day thinking, remembering, and honoring her memory. Which inevitably leads to…" she gestured to her face, allowing him to fill in the blank.

"I'm sorry," he said, and this time it was he who held up a hand to stop her from interrupting. "I'm apologizing, not comforting. I'm sorry I messed up your ritual. I really am. I wouldn't have if I'd have known…" he remembered his conversations with Beckett's friends and colleagues and realized that there were details that still hadn't fallen into place. He began again with renewed vigor. "If you do this every year, why does no one know? Lanie, Espisito, Ryan… hell, how did I not notice last year?"

She shrugged. "I'm usually more careful about it. I don't need people to know because, well, things like this happen."

"Excuse us for caring," Castle said, smiling a little sadly.

"I know your hearts are in the right place, it's just… not what I'm looking for. I don't need people to cheer me up. I just want to be sad." She sighed, continuing. "So usually I come up with a good reason why I can't be at work weeks in advance, something that no one will question. I think last year I was visiting my cousin in New Jersey."

"Oh, I remember that."

"Yeah, well, for the record, I don't have a cousin in New Jersey. After all these years as a cop, turns out I'm pretty good at creating my own alibis. But this year it kind of snuck up on me. We've been so busy with work lately, all those crazy cases we've been working… suddenly I got up this morning and saw the date, and, well… I guess you know the rest."

"Montgomery knows," Castle said, not really a question, just a statement to be confirmed. He knew the answer.

"Yeah, he knows. At least… sort of. He knows what today is. And he knows I take this day off every year. I think even if I hadn't called, he wouldn't have expected me. But at least this way I gave him something to tell everyone."

"Yeah, the world's lamest excuse. A personal day? Why do you think I came here? Did you really expect me to believe that?"

"Yeah, well I'm sorry I couldn't come up with a better story for you this morning, I really didn't have the energy. But the thing is, it's the truth. If this isn't a personal day, then what is?"

Castle considered that. "I guess you're right." He looked up at her face and was tortured all over again. All he wanted to do was put his hand on her shoulder. Why wouldn't she let him?

He felt like he should go. Part of him wanted to go. He was unnerved and uncomfortable, and she wouldn't let him do anything anyway. But at the same time, he hated to leave her alone like this, and resolved not to until she kicked him out. Surely it wouldn't be long.

* * *

_Yeah, the suspense was fun, but it was never really supposed to be the focus of this story, so it was time to move on. Besides, Castle was getting impatient._

_Random point. Any Gilmore Girls diehards out there reading this? Probably not. And if not, please feel free to skip this little paragraph, because you don't care. I promise. But on the off-chance that there's someone out there that does care, random bit of trivia. I got the idea for this from the Luke's dark day concept (Season 5, I believe? Luke basically goes into hibernation and doesn't talk to anyone every year on the anniversary of his dad's death.). I thought something similar would work well for Beckett. I love when my obsessions help each other out. :)_

_Back to the (slightly more) important stuff. Some of your reviews made me a little nervous about this chapter. Partly because I think you might be right. Maybe Lanie and the boys would know the date of Johanna's murder. But my thinking when I wrote this was that Beckett probably knew Montgomery when she first became a cop and she was trying to investigate it, while Lanie, Ryan, and Esposito might realistically not have come along until later. Maybe they'd have some idea of when it happened, but how would they know the exact date unless Beckett told them? So really, I don't think it's totally unrealistic that they wouldn't know. If I did, I would've changed it. Hopefully this doesn't kill the story for anyone._

_Thanks so much for all of your reviews (even the ones that made me nervous... ;) It's good to make me think a little bit once in awhile). I'm positive I've said this before, but I loooove them, and obviously I take them all into account when I'm writing/editing. So keep them coming, please and thanks! And I really, really hope you like this chapter, because it is a bit important. (I can be a slightly sarcastic person, so my "a bit" can often be translated to "very." As can my "slightly.") Thanks so much for reading, and extra points for putting up with my ramblings. :)_


	4. Chapter 4

_Let me just start by saying how impressed I am by how many of you got my Gilmore Girls reference. You are all officially awesome. Considering that Gilmore Girls and Castle have almost nothing in common besides really well-written dialogue and a strong female main character with a coffee addiction, it's cool that so many people apparently really like both of them._

_So this chapter almost didn't happen. Which would've been really stupid because it was already written... but I briefly lost all confidence in this story as a whole and I really just didn't want to work on it anymore. But after reading a few really amazing reviews, (Reggie, you're awesome. Just so you know. Actually you're awesome twice, since I know the Gilmore Girls thing applies to you also. :P) and then re-reading this chapter and realizing it didn't suck nearly as much as I thought it did, (I actually really like parts of it. I won't say which parts because one, this note is at the beginning of the chapter and I don't want to give anything away, and two, I'm curious to see if you guys like the same parts as I do without influencing you) the confidence is back. To everyone who reviewed, thank you! Annnd I hope you continue to do so (hint, hint?). And now without further ado... chapter four. Hope you like it!_

* * *

Although she hadn't exactly expected for him to show up at her doorstep, part of her wasn't surprised when he did. When she'd called Montgomery early this morning, giving him her feeble excuse, there had been the shadow of a voice in a back corner of her mind telling her that Castle would wonder. And when Castle wondered, he investigated. And when Castle investigated, he got answers.

This week had been unusually tough, between the miserable cold rain, the string of difficult cases, her breakup with Josh on Sunday, and the fact that in an effort to avoid talking about it, she'd been holding herself more distant than usual from everyone in her life.

The truth was, she was embarrassed. She'd really thought she and Josh had something good. She loved being with him, and she'd thought he felt the same way. But then after their date on Sunday night, he'd politely ended it, giving no reason other than that he "just didn't think it was working." She didn't want her colleagues to know she'd been so caught off guard, that, frankly, she was as upset by this as she was. She didn't want Lanie to know she'd had yet another failed relationship. She didn't want Castle to know that she was now single when he was not. And the way things tended to work at the precinct, if one person knew, everyone would find out.

So every day this week, she'd buried herself in the casework that part of her was glad just kept coming, studiously returning Castle's quips and trying to act like everything was perfectly normal. On some level she knew that she couldn't keep her secret forever, but she was going to try for as long as she could. She hoped that maybe, by the time anyone figured out what had happened, it wouldn't be such a big deal to her anymore.

She'd been caught up in her routine: bury herself in work, get home, order in, and relax a little while still thinking about the case, and then fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. So much so, in fact, that until this morning the date seemed of very little significance. But when she'd seen the date this morning, the one that had stuck in her mind, haunting her for so many years, her heart had sunk to a whole new low, and for more reasons than any other year. She wouldn't, _couldn't_ go to work today. Part of her wanted to, but she knew she wouldn't be able to avoid being distracted, which, in her line of work, was bad on a number of levels. For one, cases couldn't be solved if she wasn't fully concentrated. For another, on the wrong day, distraction could be deadly.

She found that on this day that she specifically reserved as one that she spent alone with her grief and her mother's memory, she had very little interest in being alone. She didn't want the quiet stillness that she basked in every other year. It would give her too much opportunity to think, something she'd been carefully avoiding all week.

But this day wasn't supposed to be pleasant. It was supposed to be sad. If it was anything else, she'd feel like she was disrespecting her mother's memory, and that was the last thing she ever wanted to do. So even if being alone was uncomfortable, it was necessary. If someone was there with her to dispel the quiet, even take the edge off of her pain… wouldn't that be disrespectful?

Even if she could manage to justify not being alone, she could think of no one she actually wanted to be with. Until she heard his voice coming through her door.

At first, she had frozen. She knew that today she was a complete mess in so many different ways, and she didn't want for him to see this side of her, though it was a side that never emerged more than once a year. Her instinct was to remain silent, hoping he would think she wasn't home. When she found that her plan wasn't going to work, and she began having visions of him sitting outside of her door all night long, she knew that she had to answer it. And once she answered it, she knew she had to explain everything. At least, some version of everything.

But now that she had, he was still there, not making eye contact, in fact not even looking at her besides the occasional stolen glance. At first she'd thought that he was repulsed by the sight of her this way, with her swollen face and lack of any makeup or a decent-looking outfit, hair knotted and sticking out in a million directions. Usually he was the one studying her, and it was odd that now the tables were turned. He was averting his eyes while she studied him, watching every tiny contraction of the individual muscles in his face, the way the skin just above his eyelids formed a little extra fold, and his eyebrows were knitted, deep creases between them. She'd known him for long enough that she could distinguish the meanings of most of his expressions, and this one was not disgust. It was pain.

This felt wrong on so many different levels, especially after a good five minutes passed and he didn't say a thing; in fact, he barely moved. "Castle, what's wrong?" she finally asked him after she couldn't take it any longer. She was aware of how strange the question sounded coming from her, her voice still thick with tears that wouldn't stop coming, a physical reaction to the emotion of the day. It was like her body responded on its own, without even communicating with her brain. Her internal calendar knew what today was and what significance it held.

His gaze came up and met her eyes again, and he didn't say anything for another long moment. When he finally did there was force behind it, and it surprised her so much that she jumped a little. "You're kidding, right?"

"What?" She couldn't have been the thing that was causing that face—could she?

_"You,"_ he responded, directly answering the question she hadn't voiced.

She sighed. "Castle, it's one day. I'm okay."

"No you're not," he said, getting angry, of all things. "You're absolutely not. I work with you every damn day, Detective Beckett_,_ and this? This is _not_ okay."

She wasn't really thinking clearly today to begin with, and now he was confusing her. Why, in what should've been a very informal situation, had he called her "Detective Beckett"? Why was he so upset? And what, now, was making him angry? "What do you want me to do?" she finally asked.

"Let _me_ do something. _Anything_. Tell me to leave. Tell me to stay. Tell me to bring you something, or drive you someplace. I don't care. Let me at least feel like I'm doing something to help, even if I'm not. I can't just sit here watching you suffer for much longer. I can't handle it. I _can't_."

She didn't know how to respond to this side of Castle. She had certainly never seen it before. But his plea was so desperate, so real, and so touching that she had to grant it in some way. And she couldn't find it within herself to tell him to leave. She didn't want to be alone, but she didn't want to talk. She didn't want him to talk. She didn't want anything material that he could get her. But she also didn't want his face to be so twisted and contorted, for him to look so broken.

She slid toward him ever so slightly, giving him the smallest invitation. His hand started to move toward her, and just as he looked like he was about to stop it, she gave a little nod, granting him permission. His arm gained a little speed, reached above her head, finally coming down to rest, softly, gently, on her opposite shoulder.

The feeling of his hand, strong and warm, on her shoulder was comforting, but not in a way that seemed at all disrespectful to her mother's memory, as she'd feared it would. It neither stopped her tears nor increased them. It merely made her feel less alone.

And that was exactly how she wanted to feel.


	5. Chapter 5

_First and foremost, thank you all for your review-based support, in general but for this story especially. I love writing Castle stuff, it keeps me entertained between the new episodes, but you guys are really what keeps me going._

_And before I get too much further, happy Castle Day! I intend to celebrate by getting as much writing as possible done before ten. And eating chocolate._

_I realize this chapter does very little to advance the plot, but there is some background here that you need. And it let me play with some more pretty language, which is always a plus in my world._

_Unfortunately, this is the last chapter of this story that I had pre-written, which means that I'm going to have to actually write another chapter before the next update, not just edit and post like I've been doing. Which means it might take a little longer. Which is probably frustrating because I know I haven't been ridiculously quick with the updates anyway (if you're waiting on "It Happens," it's coming, I swear!), but try to be a little bit patient with me. I'm working on it._

_Annd without further ado, the actual chapter update. Hope you like it!_

* * *

He felt so many things as he sat there beside her in the living room of her tiny, dim sublet, his hand on her shoulder. Compassion. Sorrow. Helplessness. Contentment. Love.

Yes, love. There was no doubt in his mind that however his relationship with Katherine Beckett might be defined, whatever they were or weren't to each other, he did love her.

They were more connected now than they'd ever been before, both literally and figuratively. His hand rose and fell along with her shoulders, and he felt her every breath, her every movement, her every sob. He still felt a little like her obvious agony was slowly draining the life from him, but just the simple contact helped a lot, grounded him. He felt as though by holding onto her, he was holding his world together.

Part of him wished she knew what he was keeping from her, but this was not the time to tell her.

And there was another part of him that was glad she didn't know, because it would make this moment seem a little less innocent.

The truth was, it hadn't been an easy week for him. It had started on Sunday, as weeks will do. Actually, he'd enjoyed most of Sunday very much. He and Gina went on a double lunch date with Alexis and Ashley, and then they'd spent the rest of the day together in Manhattan, each choosing a favorite place to take the others while dodging raindrops. The problems didn't start until later, when they went back to his apartment to play Rock Band.

Castle was always the drummer when he and Alexis played. He could hold his own with the guitar as well, but the drums were his favorite. The first few songs went great. Castle played the drums, Gina the guitar, Ashley the bass, and Alexis sung the vocals. Castle realized it was a video game, but he couldn't help noting that they didn't sound too bad.

But then Gina decided that she wanted to try the drums. And that was when all hell broke loose. The end result was Castle and Gina locked in Castle's office yelling at each other. Or rather, Gina yelling. Castle rarely ever yelled, but he did recognize his volume rising as he tried to defend himself. The whole discussion, if it could've been called that, culminated in Gina yelling "Now I remember why we got divorced!" and storming out.

Alexis was at his side within a minute, Ashley apparently having slipped out when he and Gina began their encounter. She tried to cheer him up and it helped a little, but all week long he'd been hearing Gina's voice echoing in his head.

As much as he would've liked to deny it, Castle had never been much good at long-term relationships. He'd only really had two in the last twenty or so years, and both had ended in marriage… and later divorce. One night stands he could handle. Even a date or two. He was good at dating. But after that it got tricky. He'd thought that he was starting to get better, that his relationship with Gina (again) was proof-positive that he was capable of being part of a successful relationship. He didn't like to admit that he was wrong.

He'd been almost relieved that Beckett had been assigned so many complex cases lately, because he was able to focus solely on them, drowning himself in the details. When he was at the precinct, he avoided his life by focusing on someone else's… or rather, someone else's lack of one. When he was at home he was doing a lot of writing, allowing his characters to consume him.

But now that he was here, with her, his arm around her, so intimate and yet so innocent, he felt as though his life was catching up with him, and he couldn't seem to get away fast enough.

It wasn't fair, and he knew it wasn't, that as he sat here, desperately trying to offer some kind of comfort to the woman who had become one of his best friends (Besides Alexis, who was the first person he told all of his news? Who did he go to when he needed advice? Whose apartment had he run to, simply because he'd felt that something was off?), he was still so caught up in his own pathetic existence. She was still there, of course, boring into the edges of his subconscious, still increasing the pain he felt because, although it was better now that they were touching, it still wasn't enough.

Part of him (if he was being honest, damn near all of him) wanted to make another move, to do something to comfort her further, but he was having difficulty keeping score. The first move had been hers, he thought, when she'd moved toward him. Or had it been his when he'd asked, begged, really, her to let him do something? Did that count? Did her slight lean in his direction count as anything, or had the first real move been his, when he'd draped his arm across her shoulders? He felt lost and confused, with no idea whether it would be okay for him to make some other small move or he should wait for her encouragement. But the longer they sat there, in silence except for his steady, even breathing and her occasional ragged sobs, the more he began to feel that the presence of his hand was no longer enough. He was afraid, though, to go too far, gently reminding himself that while he was now single, she was not. Yes, let the record show that Richard Castle was actually afraid to make a move. When it came to Kate Beckett, all the rules changed.

She shifted a little and a lock of her hair brushed his hand. Almost without realizing what he was doing, he slowly began twirling her hair through his fingers.

Rather than pulling away, as he might've expected her to do if he'd been thinking at all, she moved toward him again. But this time, instead of a miniscule, almost undetectable amount, she truly moved, sliding her entire body closer to his. He'd expected that to be all, and it would've been enough, but she was still moving toward him, increasing his heart rate with every inch. The ends of her long, loose curls brushed his arm, and still she moved closer. He felt the warmth radiating from her skin. Still closer. Felt the easy pressure of her head resting carefully on his shoulder.

His heart was now beating so violently that he was sure she must've been able to hear it, but there was very little he could do about that. He slowly exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and softly moved his hand up and down her arm. He loved feeling her so close to him more than he could ever explain, even utilizing his impressive narrative skills, but he couldn't, nor did he ever want to, get used to the way her body was shaking against his as she cried. Never had he seen her so broken. Never had he imagined she had the capacity to fall apart quite this much. It gave him a whole new appreciation for what she did every day, how much she kept hidden beneath the surface. He would have never thought she'd have allowed him to see her this way. Why had she? Since he'd come in, she hadn't once told him to leave. Why not?

He didn't know these answers, but there was one thing he did know for sure. This was not going in his next book.


	6. Chapter 6

_I let this chapter go a little longer than usual, so I'm sorry if it drags. I'm hoping it won't, though. I'll skip the long, rambling author's note this time and let the chapter speak for itself. Hope you like it!_

* * *

She was able to relax a little as the bits of faded, broken video tape played through her mind. It started with the earliest memories. Johanna tucking her into bed at night, singing softly in her beautiful alto. Cooking dinner, allowing a very young Kate to think she was helping by giving her things to stir that were already thoroughly mixed. Then later, actually letting her help, working up to the point where she was able to make whole meals with very little assistance. Her mother taking her shopping. Teaching her to put on makeup. Trading favorite books and then talking about them for hours.

Her tears slowed as she thought of these things. She would always feel a measure of pain when she remembered her mother and she knew and accepted this, but these memories were good. They were the best things she could remember about an amazing woman.

The problem with these memories came when she realized how they were fading. Every year the details got a little fuzzier. It took longer for her to formulate a clear picture of her mother's face, to hear her voice in her head. Specific memories were becoming snapshots, glimpses through frost-covered windows at rooms she'd once been able to enter through doorways. That scared her. It scared her a lot. It was part of the reason she kept doing this year after year, to try and hold on to the moments she remembered for as long as she could. In a way, losing these memories would be like losing her mother all over again, and the very thought made her sick to her stomach.

Also, it was inevitable that as she drew to the end of these pleasant memories, the slightly more recent ones followed. The ones she wished she could forget. Detective Raglan breaking the news, too detached, too objective, simply stating facts without giving any indication that he realized this moment would shape the rest of her life. Her mother's lifeless body, her clothes stained with blood. The funeral, with the obscure relatives she'd never met and acquaintances she could only pretend to remember. The way it had all felt so inconsequential, so _fake_. And then her dad's downward spiral, how having a few drinks to dull the pain, normal, to be expected, had morphed into a dependence, something he could no longer control.

These were the memories that she wished would fade, not completely, but enough to dull the color. Of course, they refused. They seemed permanently burned onto her subconscious, with her always, and readily available at the end of her Johanna video reel every time she dug it out.

These were the memories that brought her tears back full-force, that sent a fresh wave of sobs coursing through her body. She'd been so focused on her own thoughts, carefully concentrating on her memories of her mother, as the day required, and pushing away thoughts of Sunday and Josh, that she could almost have forgotten about the man she was leaning against. Could almost have neglected the fact that the object her head rested on was not an object at all, but a person's shoulder. Could almost have failed to notice the warmth that enveloped her, the feeling of his body heat so close.

But Castle had never been one to allow his presence to go unnoticed, whether he intended this or not. When the crying started again he reacted immediately, wrapping his arm around her a little tighter, pulling her a little closer. "Shh," he whispered, so soft that it would've been inaudible if not for their sheer proximity. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay. Shh."

She inched just a little bit closer to him, grateful for the support, for the comfort of closeness, even for the sound of his voice. There was something grounding about it. It didn't prevent her from slipping into her memories, but it gave her a pathway back to the present, kept her from getting lost in her own head. If she could've seen this moment from the outside she would've realized its absurdity and asked herself what the hell she was doing, but from where she was, without the hindrance of logic, there was something about it that just felt _right._

She tried to let her mind go blank and her breathing slowed again. As it neared its normal rhythm, still a little heavier than usual, but no longer the gulps of air in between sobs, he seemed to relax as well, and his hand strayed away from her shoulder and began stroking her hair. His fingers combed through it, ever so gently untangling some of the knots she'd neglected that morning. It was surprisingly soothing, and she let her eyelids slide closed, focusing on nothing.

She had no idea how long they sat like this, whether it was two minutes or two hours. Time seemed like a very abstract concept, not something that could be kept track of. At some point it was punctuated by his voice, very soft, but still cutting through the silence that surrounded them. "You know—" he stopped himself with a sigh, and started again. "Know that I'm not trying to push you, but if you want to talk about anything, I'm here."

She didn't respond right away, but she thought about what he'd said. The man that was sitting here with her today—was this really Castle? He'd said he didn't want to push her. Since when? Normally, pushing her was his specialty. He wouldn't relent until he had whatever information he wanted, and eventually she always did give in. But this, she guessed, was different. He had all the information (well, all the information that he knew there was… he still knew nothing about the situation with Josh, and she intended to keep it that way) already. He was just trying to be supportive. He was trying to be a good friend. And she couldn't help but note that he was doing a damn good job.

It wasn't hard to see that he was unnerved. Castle was a tough person to shake. They'd seen some crazy things at crime scenes, and most of it didn't even seem to surprise him, let alone disturb him. But now? Maybe "disturbed" was too strong a word, but he was definitely thrown off balance. And she understood why. He was used to seeing her at work, very calm, very professional. And now he had to deal with her like this? She felt bad, but then, he didn't seem to mind.

He'd seen her in difficult situations before. He'd even seen her cry before. It wasn't like this was something entirely new. But this situation was different. At work, it was a brief wave of emotion, stifled as soon as she could manage it. And that being the case, he knew his role: to help her to pull herself together as quickly as possible. He followed her lead. The friendship, "I'm here for you" angle at first, until she pulled herself through the initial crash, which never took very long, and then he'd switch over to a slightly gentler version of standard Castle mode: joking, teasing, mocking, anything to get her to crack a smile. Once he achieved that, his goal was more or less complete, and they went back to business as usual.

But now, this? She wasn't, had no intention of, following her usual pattern. She was swinging back and forth like some kind of spastic pendulum, from upset to fairly okay and then back to upset, and he couldn't tell what he was supposed to do. She didn't even know what she wanted him to do. She wasn't even entirely sure why she hadn't told him to leave yet, but really, she had no intention of doing that any time soon. Maybe it was selfish, but she liked that he was here.

She did realize that, although she wouldn't tell him to leave, she probably should give him an out. She knew he was uncomfortable, and if he had other things to do, or even if he just didn't want to be here, she didn't want to force him to stay. "Look," she murmured without looking at him, or even lifting her head off of his shoulder, "You don't have to stay here. If you want to go, if you have things to do…" She let her voice taper off.

He shifted a little so that he could see her, and put one finger below her chin, coaxing her to change the angle of her head so that he could look her in the eye, which this time he did without shrinking away. "There is nowhere," he said, the look on his face ridiculously sincere, "that I would rather be."

It was the perfect response, exactly what she'd needed to hear. She was still looking at him and wanted to give him a small smile to let him know that she'd appreciated it without actually having to say anything, but she was so far from the smiling mood that she couldn't even seem to summon the energy to fake it. Instead she nodded and whispered a nearly inaudible, "Thanks."

The almost-smile that he returned fell a little short as well, and wound up looking like more of an exhausted grimace, but she understood its intended purpose completely.

She took another immeasurable stretch of time to consider the other part of what he'd said. Did she want to talk? Her default answer was no, in general, but especially when it came to her mother. But the main reason that she didn't like to talk about her was that she was afraid she was going to fall apart, and now? Now, she was pretty much already apart. She didn't have much farther to fall, and she was surprisingly confident that Castle would be there to catch her before she hit bottom. Even more surprising was how comfortable she was with the idea of being caught.

Talking honestly didn't sound like such a bad idea. All the remembering and crying she'd been doing had drained her energy and talking sounded tiring, but no more tiring than holding the thought inside that had been torturing her all morning. "I just… I don't want to forget."

He frowned, shaking his head. "You won't."

"No," she choked, frustrated, picking up her head to look at him straight-on. That was the default answer for him, the one she'd known he'd give. "I _am. _Every year I remember a little less about her." She didn't need to say who. He knew. "Who she was. How she was. Her face, the way she acted, the way her voice sounded. The details you can't see in pictures." She felt a few of the tears that had almost completely subsided start to roll down her cheeks again. She swallowed, and then whispered, "I can't lose her again."

She'd pulled away from him before commencing her little rant, and he now held out his hand, a simple invitation. She accepted it with very little hesitation, and he hooked his fingers around hers and squeezed gently. She expected another assurance that she would remember, and with his talent for persuasiveness she simply hoped that he could make her believe him. But what he gave her was something entirely different. He took a second before he responded, carefully turning something in his head as she had very seldom ever seen him do. "Do you want my advice?" he finally asked.

She nodded. Anything that caused him to think so carefully was something she needed to hear.

"When I want to remember something, I write about it. Sometimes I'll put it in one of my novels, but most of the time I just write it down. I have flash drives full of documents that will probably never be seen by anyone but me. And notebooks full of stuff from when Alexis was growing up. I know they say 'a picture is worth a thousand words,' but words… words can capture things that pictures miss. And a thousand words?" The corners of his mouth curled up just slightly, the first trace of a smile she'd seen him form that day. "Not that hard to write."

"Yeah but… Castle, I'm not you. I'm not a bestselling author. The only things I know how to write are police reports."

"Ah, I don't believe that." He looked at her with those big, ridiculous puppy dog eyes of his, so comically serious that she found herself dangerously close to a smile. "You, Kate Beckett, are a brilliant woman." She started to roll her eyes, but he wasn't done. "No, stop. I mean it. You notice details. And you're incredibly well read. I have no doubt that you could be an amazing writer. Plus I've read your police reports, and while they could do with a little spicing up, they're actually not half bad."

This time she did smile. It was a weak, watery smile, but it was a smile.


	7. Chapter 7

_Wow. Two story updates in one day. I'm on a roll. Anyway. Now that I'm done being proud of myself. I'm very sorry that this update has been such an incredibly long time coming. I got distracted by some other stuff I've been working on. Plus... this story is kind of sad, and I really haven't been in the mood to write it. I think what finally motivated me to finish this chapter was that I was a little bit mad at the Castle in my other story (if any of you are reading "Daylight" you'll understand this...) and I wanted to write him being super-sweet again. So if you've been waiting for this since the last chapter... I'm sorry! But this one's finally done, and I hope it was worth the wait. It's a pretty long one, so maybe that helps. Or maybe it's just annoying because it takes forever to read. I know not. But at long last, here it is. I won't keep you from it any longer than I already have. And I'll try not to make you wait quite as long for the next one._

* * *

He felt something inside of him release as he watched the line of her mouth start to curve. Her eyes were still red, her face still wet, but she was smiling. Even if his idea had been stupid, even if she had no interest in going along with it, for this moment, this instant, alone, he was glad he'd shared it with her.

It wasn't long before she let it fade with a small sigh. "I just don't know if I'd be able to do her justice. Some of the things I remember, I wouldn't even know how to describe."

He was grateful that she was talking now. The talking was so much better than the silence. He didn't feel nearly as helpless. And this most recent worry was easy enough to address. "I could help you with that. If you want."

"But why? If no one's ever going to read it, why take the time?"

He shrugged. "For you. Just writing everything down will help you remember, and you'll always have it to read. You could let your dad read it if you wanted to, but you wouldn't have to… and then maybe if you have kids one day… maybe they'd want to meet their grandmother."

She nodded slowly. "It's not a bad idea. I'll think about it."

"I think it would help."

"It wouldn't be easy."

"No, it wouldn't. I'm not going to pretend that it would. But I think it would help."

"Maybe."

"Well, if you do decide to do it and you want my help with anything, just let me know. Or give me a call. Any time."

"Thank you, Castle." She took a shaky breath and he held his, willing her to hold it together. He understood that it was her grieving day. He did. But he hated seeing her so upset. Hated it more than he could ever explain. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Sorry?" he asked, confused. "For what?"

"That you have to deal with this. You didn't ask for it, and you obviously don't like it."

"I hate that you're upset," he said, making direct eye contact with her to show his earnestness, even though looking into her still-teary eyes was difficult. "But I would hate even more to know that you were this upset and alone." He put his hand on her arm. "Thank you for letting me stay."

She nodded. "Thank you for staying," she whispered.

He considered telling her that she didn't have anything to thank him for, but recognized that they weren't going to get anywhere with this particular argument. Not to mention that he couldn't quite bring himself to fight with her while she was in this state. "So… what now?" he asked instead. He cursed his short attention span, but he wasn't comfortable with this complete lack of action. He was glad that she was no longer crying, but just sitting there in silence looking at her still sad, tearstained face and doing absolutely nothing was not going to work for him.

She sighed. "What time is it?"

Confused but not in the mindset to question her, whatever her request might've been, he looked at the clock on his cell phone. "Little before one. Why, what difference does it make? I know there's nowhere you have to be." He smiled feebly. He'd meant it as an almost-joke, and wasn't expecting her response.

"Actually, there is. But not until later."

He frowned, taken aback. "You're not working. Where in the world could you possibly have to go?"

"I love the insinuation." She made a noise that could almost have been a laugh if it weren't for the fact that she wasn't actually smiling.

Happy as he was that she was attempting to banter with him, however unsuccessfully, he would not allow his question to go unanswered. "Come on. You know what I mean. Where in the world could you possibly have to go _today?"_

But now she was backpedaling, for some reason. "Nowhere. It doesn't matter. You'll be gone by then anyway."

"I have no plans to leave you today," he said earnestly, "but if you want me to make them, you need to tell me why."

She swallowed. Her eyes were brimming again, and he wondered if the last thing he said couldn't have been a little gentler. Logically he knew that her tears had nothing to do with him, but each time they started again he couldn't help but think if he'd done something differently—said or not said something, maybe held her a little closer—they might not have. "Just—" she finally sputtered, "—I um, I go to the cemetery. You know. Leave flowers." She shrugged. "Standard." But the tears that were beginning to leave the confines of her eyes said otherwise.

He nodded. "Well, that's understandable. But I'll stay. I'll drive you."

She shook her head quickly, wiping her eyes with her hand, which was completely ineffective because a new batch of tears were waiting the replace the ones she wiped away. "No, Castle, it's okay. It's something I have to do myself."

"That's fine, then I'll wait in the car." He was decided on this. He would not leave. "You don't need to be driving." It didn't seem to him that she was fully able to control when something would spark a fresh wave of emotion, and he couldn't see how driving in New York with tears obstructing your vision could possibly be safe.

"It's fine, I do it every year."

He shook his head. "Not this year."

Apparently seeing how resolute he was, she tried another angle. "Like I said though, it won't be until later. Around sunset."

"Sunset," he repeated, nodding. "Poetic. I like it."

She shrugged. "It was her favorite time of day. But I'm sure you have to go home before then. Won't your family be wondering what you're doing?"

"My mom and Alexis? For all they know we're both at the precinct right now, and sometimes I get back later than others. And if they did know I was here, it wouldn't be a problem. They'd want me to make sure you were alright."

"Castle, I promise you I'm fine."

He raised his eyebrows. Why did she feel the need to keep telling him this? "No, you're not. And that's okay." He squeezed her shoulder gently. "But I'm not going anywhere."

"What about Gina?" she asked, catching him off guard. "Wouldn't she mind you being here? With me?"

He shook his head immediately, but his expression changed. Right, Beckett didn't know about that yet. It was a little embarrassing, but he decided he should tell her. She was his friend, and she deserved to know what was going on in his life. "I'm positive she wouldn't care a bit," he said softly.

She tilted her head and frowned, but didn't say anything.

"We're done," he eventually supplied. "Not together anymore."

She nodded, and this time it was she who took his hand. "When?"

"Sunday."

He was watching her face very carefully, and he could've sworn he saw the corners of her mouth twitch up very briefly, not that that made any sense. "Sunday," she repeated.

He couldn't figure out what the hell her expression was doing. It seemed to be registering about twelve emotions at once, only a few of them which he could place. The sadness that had been there since he'd arrived. Pity, which he felt stupid about. It was the anniversary of the day her mother was murdered, and now she was feeling sorry for him? Confusion. Hesitation. And something buried beneath everything else that looked suspiciously like amusement, which he couldn't even begin to understand. "I guess I should've told you?" he tried, wondering if this was what she wanted him to say. "I just… didn't really feel like talking about it."

"No, that's not—" she started, still wearing the same cryptic expression. She paused, took a long breath, and began again. "Josh and I broke up on Sunday."

He didn't bother to hide his astonishment. _If that's not a sign, what the hell is?_ a voice in his head was yelling at him. "You did?" How had he not noticed that? Right, because he'd been hibernating in his own head, so pathetically absorbed by _his_ personal problems.

She nodded. "Yeah."

"You okay?"

She shrugged. "You?"

He shrugged as well, but then, settling further into her couch, he thought about it a little more and nodded slowly. "I think it was for the best."

She leaned against him with a bit less hesitation than before, but then pulled back with a little half laugh, putting her hand on the dark spot on his sleeve. "You're wet."

He chuckled. "I know. Whose fault's that?"

"I'm sorry. Do you want… a towel?" What she was doing now could only be described as giggling, which was strange on a number of levels. Beckett was not usually a giggler.

He raised an eyebrow at her, but couldn't help smiling. "No, that's okay. It'll dry." The ludicrous image of her _giggling_ through her still-tearstained face reminded him a little of Alexis when she was very young. She'd often come out of a particularly long crying fit by laughing hysterically over something small. "What's funny?" he asked.

"I don't know, you. You're here. And Gina… and your shirt…" She was still laughing, and making absolutely no sense, but he was glad she was amused… he thought.

"Okay," he said, with a hesitant little laugh of his own.

"I'm sorry," she said, taking a breath to calm herself. "I don't know why I'm laughing. I shouldn't be laughing. My mom was killed today, for God's sake."

As soon as she said it all traces of her smile vanished and he felt his heart break a little. "Hey," he said, laying his hand on her back. "Not today. Eleven years ago."

"Eleven years ago _today_." A single sob shook her body, and he pulled her closer. Her face managed to find a dry spot on his shirt as she rested her head on him again. Not that it would be dry for much longer.

"Kate…" He sighed heavily. "I hate this," he mumbled. "I hate this a lot."

She looked up at him. "I told you you could go."

He closed his eyes for a second. She was missing his point. "No… no, that would not help." She was still looking at him, so he forced a weary smile. "Your mom… I'm sure she would've wanted you to be happy. I'm sure she wouldn't be offended by you smiling, or laughing." He raised an eyebrow, his smile a little less forced. "Or enjoying the company of a brilliant novelist."

She made no admission that she'd even heard his last sentence. "I hate when people say things like that," she murmured. "You didn't even know her."

"No, you're right, I didn't. But I am a parent, and if, God forbid, anything would ever happen to me, I would still want Alexis to be happy."

"Okay, yeah, and usually I accept that theory. But just today, the day she died, one day out of three hundred sixty-five… I just feel like it's wrong."

He sighed. "But why? I understand spending the day remembering. I understand the whole gravesite, flowers thing. What I don't understand is the feeling that while you're honoring her memory you can't also be happy."

"Someone killed her, Castle," she reminded him, silent tears once again running onto his shirt. "On _this day_ eleven years ago, someone, Dick Coonan," she added as an afterthought, this being the first year she knew this information, "killed her. Knowing that, how could I consciously be happy? It would be disrespectful."

"I _respectfully_ disagree. If she wanted you to be happy, wouldn't doing that, being happy, be the best way to honor her?"

"No." But that was all she seemed to be able to say against his argument. She sighed. "Castle, just let me have my day."

"Okay," he conceded, rubbing her back a little. "Whatever you want. And you're sad, so I'm not even going to make you admit that I'm right."

"Good." She let her eyes slide closed. "Because you're not."

"You are a very stubborn woman, Kate Beckett," he said fondly. For a moment, neither said anything. They settled into a comfortable silence, and what finally broke it was not a voice, but her stomach growling.

"You're hungry," Castle said, not phrasing it as a question. "And you should be. It's lunchtime. I am too. I'll go get us something. What do you feel like?"

"Anything's fine. I'm not picky."

"It's not about what you'll eat, it's about what you want. I can get anything. What's your favorite?" As he asked the question, he realized he already knew the answer. Her favorite kind of takeout was Chinese, and he knew which specific dishes from which restaurants she liked best. But then another thought occurred to him. "Better yet, what was your mom's favorite?"

Despite the argument they'd just had, she smiled a little at the thought, sitting up to give him the freedom of movement. "Italian."

He nodded and stood, making his way toward the door. "Perfect. I will be right back."


	8. Chapter 8

_Again, sorry this took so long! This story keeps getting pushed to the backburner for one reason or another. But I promise that I am still working on it! All of you who've been patiently waiting, you're awesome. Thank you so much._

_So obviously, this story deals with Kate's mom's death. At this point, if that's a secret you've seriously missed something. And also probably obviously at this point, since I'm assuming most of you have seen it by now, "Knockdown" also dealt with that. I was a little nervous that some of the information that came out in that episode was going to mess with my premise, or at least whack out a few of my details, but conveniently it really didn't at all. Actually, it seems that they've added a year between "Sucker Punch" and "Knockdown" for the sole purpose of not throwing me off. Okay, I'm sure that wasn't _actually _the sole purpose. But does it seem weird to anyone else that in "Sucker Punch" they said it had been ten years since Johanna was killed, and then in "Knockdown," which as far as I can figure would've been a year later, Beckett said it was twelve years ago? It's convenient for my purposes though, because I've already said that this takes place on the eleven year anniversary, which would put it between the two episodes chronologically, and actually works out quite nicely. Okay, you can read now._

* * *

She glanced at her father's watch, which she'd put on that morning along with the chain that held her mother's ring, despite her lack of motivation to make herself ready for the day in any other way. Actually, in truth, what she did that morning had prepared her for the day, but only _that_ day. She'd seen no reason to put on makeup, get dressed, or do anything with her hair, given that she wasn't really planning on seeing anyone.

Although Castle's arrival hadn't exactly surprised her, she'd been far from expecting it. And as many times as she told herself that he'd seen her in all kinds of situations before, and that she was sure he didn't mind that she looked like crap, she couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable that he had to see her looking this level of disheveled. As much as she knew she shouldn't care, she didn't want this to be the image that he saw in his head when he thought of her.

So when he left, she decided to take the opportunity to make herself look halfway presentable. She changed into jeans and a sweater, still comfortable but a little less just-rolled-out-of-bed, and brushed her hair. She even put on a little lip gloss, although she skipped the eye makeup, recognizing that it would probably be a bad idea.

She told herself that in a few hours she'd have to go to the cemetery and the store to get the flowers, so Castle wasn't the only one that would have to look at her. And this was true. But she also had another reason, separate from Castle, separate from anyone else, for spending the time that he was gone the way she did. Now that she'd had him with her, literally and figuratively keeping her tethered to reality, she was a little afraid to venture back into her thoughts and memories by herself. If she thought about it logically, she knew it would be okay. She'd done it every other year. She knew how to pull herself out. By tomorrow, she might be a little tired, a little emotionally drained, but other than that everything would be fine. Everything would be perfectly normal. But now that she knew what it was like not to have to face the day alone, she didn't want to go back to that.

This in mind, she took as long getting ready as she could, which admittedly wasn't that long because there wasn't much she had to do. It was her way of keeping herself occupied, to keep herself from thinking.

When she finished, she milled around her apartment aimlessly for a bit, trying to avoid sitting down. She went into the kitchen and got two plates, then went back out to her little living area and set them on the coffee table. She went back to the kitchen and opened the fridge, and realized with disappointment but not surprise that she didn't really have anything to drink. So she got two glasses from the cupboard, filled them with tap water and ice, and put them on the coffee table with the plates.

Out of ideas, she finally did sit down. She checked her watch again. He'd been gone twenty minutes. She figured it would take him at least ten more by the time he got the food and made it back.

She found herself unable to keep from thinking, but her thoughts didn't go in the direction she would've expected. Instead, she found herself thinking about him.

He'd come over. She hadn't sent him away. She didn't mind having him around. Actually, she very much liked having him around. These things meant something. And then there was the fact that he and Gina had broken up… on the very same day that she and Josh had, the strange turn of events that had inspired her embarrassing little bout of hysterics earlier.

But it was _Castle_. She felt like she'd known him forever. She hadn't, but she felt like she had. She could scarcely remember what her job had been like without him following her around like a lost puppy dog, without his surprisingly valuable insights.

What they were doing today, though, was completely separate from work. She guessed his being there today could be explained by friendship, but the way he'd kept putting his hand on her back, the way she'd rested her head on his shoulder… could that? Was fairly intimate physical contact normal between friends? Was any of this even as intimate as she thought, or was she reading too much into it? Would she have done it with any of her other friends? Lanie? Yeah, probably. But girl friends were different, somehow. Ryan or Esposito? No way.

So what did that mean? Castle was just a different kind of guy from Ryan and Esposito? But he wasn't. Not really. Obviously all three of them had their own qualities, but they were also very similar in a lot of basic ways. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed to her that there was a little more than friendship going on between her and Castle.

On any other day, this thought would've scared her. But after the way he'd shown up here today, after he'd been saying and doing exactly the right things at exactly the right times? She couldn't remember what she had to be afraid of. She was sure by tomorrow she'd remember, but right now? Right now she knew he was coming back, knew he'd be there with her again in a matter of minutes, and with that knowledge, she was content.

She found herself wishing her mom could meet Castle. She would've liked him, she decided. He was a good guy. She seldom ever thought of the two of them together. They were such different parts of her life, key players in very different scenes. She realized that if her mom hadn't been killed, she might never have become a cop, in which case she probably wouldn't have ever met Castle.

She'd learned years ago not to play the "what if" game. All it did was hold her back. It didn't accomplish anything and it didn't make her feel any better. But imagining Castle and her mother in the same world… she knew she wasn't fully in control of her emotions today, and a lot of them weren't making sense, but this thought almost made her smile.

Finally her door sounded and she answered it, unsurprised by who was on the other side, the same person she'd just been thinking about. "You look better," he said with a small smile. "You didn't do that for my benefit, I hope?"

"You flatter yourself," she bantered. "No, I have to go out in a little while, remember? Couldn't have gone out looking like I did." Actually she'd done it before, but he didn't have to know that.

"You could have. But you look nice."

She rolled her eyes, taking the bag of food from his hand. "I do not look _nice_. I look a little less disgusting than I did before, that's all." She set the food on the coffee table with the plates and drinks she'd already gotten ready.

"You never look disgusting," Castle said, his face sober. "Wow, you've been busy."

"Not really. It's not like this took long."

"You're very argumentative right now." He opened one of the containers in the bag and spooned some pasta onto his plate. "I'm glad. I feel like I have my Beckett back."

She ignored the fact that he'd just referred to her as "his," although it made her heart jump a little. "I've been here the whole time."

He shook his head as he started to eat. "No you haven't. You've been different. You're different when you're thinking about your mom. And that's fine. But it's true."

She shrugged as she put some food on her own plate. "It's not like it's something I do on purpose."

"I know! I know it's not. That's not what I'm saying. I'm just saying—I don't know what I'm saying."

She smirked. "That's a first."

"No it's not."

"Now who's being argumentative?"

He sighed. "Just eat your food."

She did, both because she was hungry and because she was anxious to end the conversation, or more accurately lack thereof, that they were currently having. "This is good."

"I know. It's the best Italian food in the city. Well, best takeout in the city, anyway."

"Where's it from? For future reference?"

"Ah, if I told you, I'd have to kill you."

"Mafia run, then?"

He laughed. "No, I'm just not willing to give away my secrets."

She shrugged. "Nothing would surprise me."

"I'm glad. I like being a wildcard." He smiled at her, something different in his eyes. She'd been watching him watch her all morning, and she hadn't seen this yet. It wasn't sympathy or compassion or trying to cheer her up. She couldn't tell what it was exactly.

"What?" she asked, feeling a trace of a confused smile on her lips.

"I like being a wildcard?" he repeated.

"No, what were you just thinking?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"Come on, you were too." She smiled, a real, broad smile this time, her first one all day. Her first one on this particular date in eleven years.

"No!" he whined. "No, that's not fair. I'm completely helpless against your smile today, and you shouldn't use it against me like that."

She said the first thing that popped into her head. "Just today?" She blushed, hearing Lanie's voice in her head: _Girl, what's gotten into you?_

But he grinned, smacking her arm playfully. "No, not just today, actually. I thought I was supposed to be the smartass."

"Why won't you tell me?"

"Because it's creepy."

"Well, I already know you're creepy, so I don't know what you're worried about."

"Ha ha. You're very funny today." His voice dripped with teasing sarcasm. "Hilarious."

"Come on, Castle." She raised her eyebrows and made her face serious, deciding she'd play the cards she'd been dealt. "I'll smile again."

"You are ridiculous." He took a bite of his food. "But you're good."

"Are you gonna tell me or not?"

"It's just…" He actually blushed. She hadn't thought Castle capable of feeling embarrassment. Apparently she was wrong. "You just look pretty."

She rolled her eyes. "We've been through this. No I don't."

"No, see, this is where it gets kind of creepy. Something about your eyes, the way they're red from crying… it makes them look greener."

She smirked. "Yeah, you're right, that's a little creepy." Or, it would've been if it had come from anyone else, in any other situation. As it was…?

He nodded. "Didn't I tell you?"

"Definitely metrosexual."

He rolled his eyes. "Guess I set myself up for that."

"But sweet." What was she doing?

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

* * *

_This chapter? Giant bundle of fluff. I'm aware. It was fun to write though. I like banter. I'm hoping that scene at the end comes of the way I want it to also, but I'm not sure how well it worked. So here's hoping. It's kind of funny that this was initially supposed to be my sad, angsty story and next to _Daylight_ it's turning into the fluffy one. I'm thinking the next chapter will have more depth to it. And hopefully won't take quite as long to get finished. In the meantime, I love reviews! Big thank you to all my loyal readers/reviewers!_


	9. Chapter 9

_A note from a very guilty author: It has been ENTIRELY too long since I've updated this. I know this. If you've been waiting, I'm so sorry! But I have been working on it, however intermittently, and this chapter is finally actually done and ready for you to read. I hope very much that you like it. Let me know!_

* * *

"You ready to go?"

He glanced between the clock on his phone and then out the window at the sky. "I thought you said sunset? It's still early."

"Yeah, well we have a couple of stops to make. Plus you're probably going to slow me down."

He'd always been an excellent selective listener. He focused on the parts of what she'd said that he liked and ignored the rest. "So you're letting me come?"

"Would you have it any other way?"

"No, but it's better if it's voluntary."

She shrugged. "Well, you've seen just about everything already, so I don't see any point in holding back now."

Again, he focused on the part that he liked. Beckett always held back. No matter how much he tried to learn, how much information he could glean from talking and pushing and just being around her, there was always more buried beneath the visible surface. Learning Kate had become, in and of itself, almost a full-time job. The fact that she was willing to let him have this one, to allow him to drive her to her mother's gravesite, was big. It was progress. "Very good point. Yeah, I'm ready whenever you are."

"Just let me get my jacket."

He nodded. She met him by the door a minute later holding her purse. "Okay, let's go." She stood by the door, key in hand, ready to lock it.

"Just a second," he said, an idea occurring to him. He spotted a small box of tissues on an end table and grabbed it before joining her on the other side of the door.

She nodded. Since he'd arrived, he was incredibly grateful that he'd been able to get her to relax, even to cheer up a little, but he couldn't help noting how impossibly sad it was that at his nonverbal, only half-serious suggestion she didn't laugh, or smirk, or brush him off. "Good thinking," she said simply.

* * *

_This is weird_, he thought as he sat in the driver's seat of his car with Kate beside him. In truth, there should've been nothing weird about it. Neither driving his car nor being alone in a car with Beckett was unusual. The weird thing was that these two ordinary occurrences were coming together as one. When he was in the car with Beckett, it was usually her car. It belonged to the city technically, but she'd been using it long enough that it was basically hers. And he'd never, literally _never_, been in a car with her and driven.

"So where are we going?" he asked her. "Atlantic City? Niagara Falls? Vegas?"

"Yeah, Castle," she said, sounding more wearied than snarky, "you caught me. Forget the cemetery, let's go to Vegas."

The pain evident in her last response, sarcastic though it was, cut straight through him. He'd been trying to lighten the mood, but maybe he'd gone too far. He was compelled to apologize. "I'm sorry. Too much."

She softened. "It's okay."

"No, it's not." Clearly she was already in enough pain without his help. He wanted to alleviate it, not make matters worse. "I'll shut up, I promise." She gave him a look, and he completely understood why she didn't believe him. "I will!" he insisted. "But I'm serious. Where to? We can go anywhere."

"I just need flowers."

"I know just the place."

* * *

He watched her face as they walked into the building, and his heart soared as her eyes widened. He'd been hoping that taking her here was the right thing to do, and her reaction helped to affirm this. "What is this place?" she asked him.

"The best flower emporium in New York. Doesn't look like much from the outside, does it?" The large building was blocky and plain, almost warehouse-like, but every inch of the inside was filled with flowers. "For all your floral needs. They make bouquets, wreaths, sculptures, and if it's the kind of deal where you bring flowers to plant yourself I'm sure they can help us out there—"

She stopped him. "There's a vase. I usually just get a bouquet."

"Perfect. What kind of flowers?"

She shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. It depends, I guess."

He raised his eyebrows. "Beckett. Come on. This isn't helping. Look around. You've got no end of options here. What were your mom's favorites?"

She did look around for a bewildered second, apparently thinking. "Lilies," she finally said. "I think lilies. But I don't usually—they're expensive."

He smiled. "Let that be the least of your concerns."

"Castle, I can't—"

"Why not? You let me buy lunch, what's the difference?"

She shrugged. "It's different. First of all, I wasn't exactly thrilled about that. And this is my thing. It doesn't concern you."

"But can't it?" Again he saw her face and amended. "I don't mean to butt in… I just want to help. You should get what you want. Pick anything. I'll cover the cost. It's silly for you to worry about that."

"It's sillier for _you _to worry about it."

She always picked the least convenient times to be stubborn. "I'm _not_ worried about it. Do I look worried? It's really not a big deal for me. Just let it go. Let me handle it." Before she got a chance to argue any further, he spotted the owner of the shop, a personal friend, and flagged him down. "Lou, hey."

"Ricky, hey! It's been too long." He grinned at Beckett. "Need some flowers for the lady?"

"Not exactly, but I do need a bouquet. The nicest arrangement of lilies you can make up for me in a short period of time."

"How short a period we talking here?"

"Short as you can manage. We need them now."

"I'll see what I can do. If you don't mind me asking, who are these for?"

He looked to Beckett, temporarily unsure of what he should say. She didn't look at him, but cleared her throat and answered Lou directly. "They're for my mom."

"Ah, I see," he said, although he looked confused. "Well, she's a lucky woman. My bouquets are the best in the city. It'll be unlike anything she's ever seen. What's the occasion? Birthday?"

This time Castle responded immediately. "Don't worry about it, Lou." The florist was just being friendly and the tone of his response was a little harsh, but he did want to be clear. The last thing he needed was some kind of "Happy Birthday" sign in the flowers that were going on Johanna's grave. It occurred to him that "Happy Deathday" would be more accurate, but he suppressed that slightly morbid thought. He could tell that even the first question had been hard for Kate to answer, so he jumped in before she had to try to respond to another.

"Okay, let me go get that moving," he said quickly, more than a little taken aback by Castle's sharpness. "I'll have it for you shortly." He disappeared through a doorway into another part of the building, leaving Castle alone with Kate.

Her back was to him as she apparently studied some kind of flower that he imagined at least ninety percent of the population had neither seen nor heard of before. But somehow he got the feeling that she wasn't really all that fascinated by the flower. He crossed over to her and rested his hand on her shoulder, and was pleased, if a little surprised, when she didn't brush him away. It was one thing that she'd allowed this in her apartment with no one else around, but in a fairly public place, albeit still with no one around, he might've thought it would be different. "You okay?" he asked her.

"Yeah," she sighed.

He left his hand there as she continued to study the flower.

"No," she said after a minute, changing her tune. "This is why I don't like to go out today."

"Lou can get a little… chatty." He'd have taken her somewhere else for flowers if he'd have remembered this, but to be honest he'd never found it to be a problem before. "Sorry."

"It's not your fault, and it's not his fault either. They were normal questions. He couldn't have known that I'm so…" She broke off and sighed, disgusted.

"So _what?_" he coaxed.

"So _fragile_," she spit out the word like a curse.

"That's okay." He tried to meet her eyes, but she wouldn't look at him. "You more than deserve to be a little fragile."

She shook her head, blinking a little more rapidly than she should've been. "I don't want to be that person. That's not me."

"Like you said before, it's one day."

"I know, and that's fine, but no one's supposed to have to see it."

He shrugged. "It's just me."

"Just you…" she mumbled cryptically. Finally she sighed and did look at him, and he was surprised to find that her eyes were filled not with emotion, but with her standard stubborn resolve. "How long is this gonna take? I hadn't counted on having to wait for the flowers."

"Not long," he answered, relieved at the confirmation that, whatever the circumstances, she was still Beckett. "Lou knows I tend to tip well when I'm satisfied, and he knew I wasn't thrilled with his questions. Ten minutes, fifteen tops?"

She nodded, still looking at him. She was still Beckett, yes, but now there was something in her eyes besides the resolve. He couldn't quite place it. "Thanks."

Gratitude? Was that what it was? And what was she thanking him for? For how he'd handled Lou and the flowers, or for taking her here? For something he'd done earlier? Even if he didn't know exactly what she meant though, he was positive he didn't mind. "Don't mention it."

* * *

Just watching Kate's face when she saw the bouquet made up for any regret he'd felt about bringing her here. "Castle, this is amazing," she said once they were in the car again on the way to the cemetery.

"Didn't I tell you? Best florist in New York."

"It seems a shame just to leave them at the cemetery so no one can enjoy them."

"That's why we bought them, isn't it? Like you said, they're for your mom."

She nodded. "I just don't usually leave flowers this… fancy."

He smiled, but didn't say anything more. He was just glad that he could do something for her that she appreciated. "Looks like we've still got some time 'til sunset," he noted as he drove. "You want to go anywhere else?"

"No. Let's just go now."

"Okay." Obediently, he drove to the cemetery she named.

Once they arrived, she gave him more specific directions to the place where her mother was buried. "Park here," she said, indicating a pull-off.

He did. He looked to her and tried to give her a smile of encouragement. He knew this couldn't be easy for her. "I'll just stay here then," he told her. "Take as much time as you need."

"You wouldn't have to wait here," she said quietly.

"What?" From what he could figure, the earth had to be rotating backward on its axis today. He wondered why he hadn't felt the change occur during the night. First Beckett didn't show up for work, then she let him stay at her apartment, then she let him drive her here, and now he was offering to wait in the car and she was telling him he didn't have to? The only logical explanation for all of this was a complete reversal of everything he'd ever known. Following that trend, he kept his sudden insight to himself.

"You can come with me if you want."

"I thought it was something you had to do alone?"

She shrugged. "You've been so sweet today, and so…" she trailed off, and began again. "I understand if it would make you uncomfortable, you can stay here if you want, but I'd like it if you came with me."

He frowned. "You would?"

"I would."

Not another instant of thought was required. "Lead the way."


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Just a quick note to start this off. The customary long and rambling one will probably be at the end. For one thing, to all my loyal readers who I love dearly, I'm very sorry I'm making you wait so long for new chapters of this story. But here's a nice long one to tide you over until I finish the next. :) And for another, just a reminder that I think will prove helpful. This is PRE-Knockdown. Since somehow, although Sucker Punch and Knockdown were only about a year apart, during Sucker Punch it had been ten years since Johanna's murder and during Knockdown it had been twelve... figure timeline-wise, as it's been mentioned that now it's been eleven years since her death, this is somewhere between the two. Closer, obviously, to Knockdown than Sucker Punch (which might not quite work out if you think about it too hard because of the twelve years thing that randomly happens, but... ignore that? It wasn't an issue when I started writing!) because of the roles of Gina and Josh. I think I started writing this during the Christmas hiatus, so it probably falls a little after that._

* * *

She got out of the car, walked a few steps, and waited for him to catch up. Then she began down the familiar path to the little patch of earth where her mother was buried. Besides that very first time, at the funeral, this was the only time she'd ever been accompanied. She had no idea what she could possibly be thinking.

The level of respect and maturity she'd seen him exhibit today surpassed anything she'd thought him capable of previously. Now was no exception. He followed her lead entirely, walking beside her but not too close, not saying anything at all. She wasn't looking for conversation, just companionship. Comfort. And both of these he'd shown her that he was able to provide.

When it was time to turn off of the path, he followed. "Here," she murmured, going to the grave. Just seeing the familiar shape of the stone, its placement, the big oak tree standing a good twenty feet behind it and a few to the right, brought tears to her eyes that she couldn't entirely quell. Then, as always, when she read her mother's name inscribed, she let go. She couldn't not.

She knelt down beside it and tried to unwrap the flowers through her tears, but had a little trouble focusing on the tape well enough to get it off, and it didn't help that her hands were shaking. After a minute or so, she felt another pair of hands on top of hers, larger and more stable, removing the tape and then the plastic from the flowers easily and then handing them to her without a word.

"Thanks," she mumbled. She pulled up the vase that sat in front of the stone and flipped it right side up. This she did easily without assistance, and she was grateful for that because Castle had apparently never seen anything like it before.

"Neat," he muttered softly, like he couldn't avoid letting the word escape but wasn't sure if he wanted her to hear it. She heard it anyway, so it didn't much matter.

She almost smiled, but wasn't quite able to get there. Instead, she tried to put the flowers in the vase, but found that the bouquet was so large that it didn't fit.

Her mind wasn't fully engaged and she looked at the beautiful arrangement for a moment, distressed. But Castle was paying close attention, and before she even said anything held out his hand for the flowers. "Here."

She handed them to him and he removed a few from the sides of the arrangement so that it still looked basically the same. He gave it back to her. "Try it now."

Again, she tried to put the bouquet into the vase, and this time it fit. "Thank you," she told him again.

He nodded in acknowledgement, busy trying to arrange the flowers he'd removed on the ground in front of the stone. The thought was good, but his way with words notwithstanding, Castle couldn't really be described as artistic. She took one of the lilies from his hand and repositioned it, and rearranged the rest of the extra flowers he'd begun to put down. Then she stood and backed up to examine their work.

It looked amazing. Never had she thought a grave could look as beautiful as this one did. She tried to stifle a sob, because she didn't want to cry. She wanted to thank him, to tell him how sweet he'd been all day, how above and beyond he was going just by being here, how much she'd truly appreciated his company. And she wanted to take his advice. She wanted to remember her mother's life with fondness, not her death with bitterness, anger, and grief. But no matter how pretty they made it, she couldn't stand before this particular piece of granite and read the name _Johanna Beckett_ without feeling sadness.

She felt his hand on her back and almost pulled away. Right now, the physical contact was making her more emotional, and she was trying to get away from that. But as she frantically blinked back the tears that wouldn't stop coming, she found that what he was doing was different from anything he'd ever done before. He was standing in front of her now, very close, and moving closer, his hand still on her back. He wrapped his other arm around her as well, and she knew what this was. She buried her face in his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him as well. Dear God. She was hugging Castle.

Rather than comforting her, though, this action seemed to increase her sobs. She didn't know why, it was almost a reflex. Again she wished she could turn it off, but she couldn't. So she just allowed it, allowed herself to fall apart, allowed him to run his hands up and down her back, to help her catch the pieces before they hit the ground.

Eventually she managed to catch her breath and slowly lifted her head to look at him. Her teary eyes met his clear blue ones, and she realized just how close their faces were. Just a little nudge, a misplaced jerk, could end with her lips against his. And just how misplaced would that be?

Very. Very misplaced. This was _Castle._ It couldn't happen. Could it? No. Of course not.

"Let's go," she whispered instead.

"You sure? The sun hasn't quite set yet."

She nodded. "I'm sure. We can't do anything else here. And this place… it's not _her._ I don't remember her here. There's no connection."

"Is there somewhere you _do_ feel a connection?"

She nodded.

"Perfect. Let's go, then."

She nodded and turned away from the newly decorated grave, allowing herself one last look.

"We did a pretty good job with that, didn't we?" he asked her just as they left. "Looks nice."

She nodded. "It's gorgeous. Thank you. For buying the flowers, and for helping me arrange them, and for… everything else."

Rather than verbally responding, he extended his hand. And rather than worrying about the implications of that, she took it. They walked all the way back to his car like this, and whatever relationships she'd been in, she felt less alone now than she had in years.

* * *

"Turn left. Yeah, that parking lot there."

"There?" He frowned.

"Castle, yeah. Trust me. Just park."

He raised his fingertips off of the steering wheel in a gesture of surrender and pulled into the lot she mentioned. She understood his confusion. It didn't look like much. And it really wasn't much. It was just a parking lot, and it wasn't in a great area. She'd actually arrested people in this part of town on more than a few occasions. But he knew that this whole day was already hard enough for her, and was totally compliant. He pulled into one of the spots and got out of the car and dropped a quarter into the meter. There weren't a lot of parking lots in the city in general, and there were even fewer that still used old-fashioned coin meters instead of the newer computerized ones, but this was one of them. It had been here for as long as she could remember.

She met him outside of the car and leaned against the hood, but said nothing.

"How long are we going to be here?" he asked her. "How much time do we need?"

"Not long. Just one quarter should be enough."

He nodded. "Okay, lead the way."

She remembered the feeling of his hand around hers as they'd walked back to the car earlier, how comfortable it had felt. She took a step in the direction they were heading and extended her hand to him. He looked at it for a second as though it might be an illusion, and blinked twice. When he found that it was still there he took it, enveloping her hand once again in the gentle warmth of his firm grip.

She let him catch up to her, and though she still led they walked side by side. Walls of concrete seemed to close in around them as they walked in between the buildings, just as she remembered doing so many years ago, holding a very different hand. Castle kept looking at her, both keeping tabs on her expression and trying to figure out where she was taking them. He was following her lead as he had before, not saying anything because she wasn't, but she could tell he was struggling. Finally he let the words break through. "We're not even going to be able to _see_ the sunset if we go much further. I thought that was what you wanted?"

She almost smiled and gave a little nod, leading him still further into the buildings. "You'll see."

After about another block, the building she was looking for came into view. She felt a surge of relief that it was still here, although until this moment the thought hadn't crossed her mind that it might not be. She led Castle to the front steps and sat down, motioning for him to do the same. He studied his surroundings for a moment and then did, so close to her that they almost touched.

"This is a library?" he asked after reading the plaque near the entrance.

She nodded. "My mom used to bring me here all the time when I was a kid. I don't know why this library, exactly… there were a lot of nicer libraries with better selections, and that were closer to where we lived. There must've been some resource here that she needed for one of her cases… I was too young to understand her work at the time, and when I got older I never thought to ask. But she'd do her research and I'd just read, sometimes for hours. When we were still here at sunset, she'd put everything aside and take me right out here where we're sitting now."

Castle looked at the gray concrete that at the moment seemed to be about the only thing visible from their current position. He looked at her, his face as blank as she'd ever seen it. "Why?"

She elbowed him gently. "I know it's not your style, Castle, but try to be patient for just a minute. It's not time yet. You'll see."

He nodded, and she felt his eyes still trained on her face, although she wasn't looking at him. His hand was still clasped around hers from where they sat on the steps, made of the same gray concrete as nearly everything else around them. But another color was slowly being added to the scene, or colors, more accurately, as the windows across the street gleamed first white, then yellow, then orange, and then almost red. She felt a smile spread across her face as the colors spread across the windows, and she nodded for Castle to look. She wanted to share this with someone, as her mother had shared it with her so many years ago.

For the first time since they sat down he turned away from her and focused on the windows, although she could've sworn when he did this she felt his hand tighten around hers just a little, as if to assure she didn't disappear, or try to leave, now that he wasn't watching. "Wow," he whispered.

For a long moment, both stared at the windows. But then Castle's ever-short attention span won over, and his gaze began flicking from the windows to her face and back every few seconds. She fought the urge to roll her eyes but managed not to. She was enjoying the moment and didn't want to ruin it. So she kept her stillness, focusing only on the glow of the windows, although his face stayed in the corner of her eye and her consciousness.

Today was the first time that, on the anniversary of her mother's death, she was able to take a moment and actually enjoy it. Actually focus on a fond memory of her mother's life rather than the devastating details of her murder. Much like being comforted, she was surprised that it didn't feel disrespectful. It felt _right_. And she knew that Castle was a big part of the reason she was able to feel this way.

As the sun's glare started to fade from the windows and they began to darken again, she finally looked away from them and turned to look at Castle. He matched the small smile that she still wore, but looked a little confused, as though he wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to do. So again, she took the lead and leaned in toward him.

"Kate, what…?" he murmured when their faces were just inches apart.

She silenced him by closing the gap, softly pressing her lips to his.

He was tentative at first, not sure how he should react, but then chemistry began to take over and he kissed her back, his lips responding to every movement of hers. He reached for her shoulder with his free hand, and this time she took _his_ lead, allowing her free hand to rest on his back.

When they separated again the windows were almost dark, the street's main illumination coming from the streetlights. She turned away from him, a little embarrassed, feeling like she'd let her emotions get the better of her. The moment hadn't been right. She didn't look even remotely attractive, she was bouncing from happy to sad to everything in between like a ping-pong ball, and he was simply giving in to her every whim out of pity.

But when she tried to let go of his hand, he held hers tighter. He nudged her chin gently, coaxing her to look at him again. She did, first turning in his direction before convincing herself to meet his eyes. When she finally did, gazing into the surprisingly deep pool of blue, he said only one word. "Wow."

* * *

_I haven't been able to say this about anything I've written in awhile, but... as a whole, I like this chapter. Very much. I think there's progress made in a few different areas, and I like how I wrote a lot of it. I briefly considered just ending this story here, but I think I want to write one more chapter to tie up some loose ends and kind of bring it full-circle, if that makes sense without getting too specific. But if you like this chapter as an ending and think it would be better if I left it as-is, definitely let me know that. I might not listen, but I will absolutely consider your opinion._

_Random sidebar, because I know a few fellow Gilmore Girls fans were at least reading this at one point... As I wrote a lot of the last scene of this I was listening to "Reflecting Light" by Sam Phillips (Luke and Lorelai's first-dance song, if you're not as much of a diehard as I am...) and I realized how insanely well it fit the scene. Some of the lyrics, and just the feel of the song... so I tried to sort of put a little of that into it. (I actually made a playlist... "Meteor Shower" by Owl City, mostly for the melody, and "Parachute" by Train, mostly for the lyrics, get honorable mentions as far as influencing the tone of the scene. I'm kind of a music freak. Without music, most of my writing would not exist because I'd never be inspired.) But after the whole thing with the windows... "Reflecting Light" was more perfect than I would've thought possible._

_Anyway. Wow. The sidebar was longer than the first part of the note. I'm very easily distracted. I haven't updated this in awhile so I clearly haven't reminded you of this in awhile... but I love reviews! So... make me happy? :) Thanks in advance! And thanks for reading!_


	11. Chapter 11

_Mmkay, brace for especially long author's notes this time because, as I expected, this is the last chapter, and I'm going to get sentimental and blabber. Accept it now, and don't say I didn't warn you. Let me start by saying I love you all. Seriously. The response to Chapter 10 completely blew me away. You're amazing, all of you. I especially loved how many reviews quoted Castle's "Wow." Made me smile. :) Plus... it made for some seriously awesome reviews. I'm glad you liked it! Thank you so much for sticking with the story, which is now officially the third multi-chaptered fanfic I've actually finished, and the second for Castle. And of the three, this one just might be my favorite. It definitely has the most depth. Anyway, without further ado, here's the last installment. (I'll blabber more at the end, as usual, and some of it will actually be important.) Here's hoping it lives up to your expectations! :)_

* * *

He found that he couldn't stop looking at her. Not just because she was beautiful, although obviously she was, even now, when he was sure her looks were the last thing on her mind. Perhaps, he thought, she was even more beautiful than usual now, with very little makeup or jewelry, no real attention paid to her hair or clothes. What he saw was all _her_, Kate Beckett and nothing else. It was a rare sight, he knew. One that not many people got to see.

But this wasn't what kept him looking at her. He looked at her face, just inches from his own. Her hand, clasped with his. The remarkable stillness of her body. She wasn't leaving. She wasn't running away.

In all his various fantasies about getting together with Detective Beckett, he'd never imagined anything like this. He'd never doubted that one day the planets would align, the perfect circumstances would come together, and it finally would happen. Ultimately, this belief was what kept him going to the precinct day after day, following her around on cases like a puppy dog even after he'd done more than enough research for whatever book he was working on. But he could never have dreamed that it would happen like this. His fantasies had always been grand, full of passion. This moment was quiet. Subdued. Full of emotion, but not the kind of emotion he'd always expected.

There was so much peace, so much stillness in this moment that he could almost believe he'd imagined the kiss. But he still felt the echo of her lips on his. It had happened. Oh dear God, had it ever.

"Ready to go?" she asked when the windows were fully darkened, jarring him from his thoughts. He nodded and walked with her back down the street, deserted except for the occasional car, still holding her hand. Actually _holding her hand._

He was reluctant to let go when they got to the car, still unable to convince himself that she'd ever let him hold it again, but he did. He decided that she'd been calm enough for long enough now that if she wanted to drive he'd let her, but she got into the passenger seat of her own accord.

"So… what now?" he asked when they were both settled in the car.

It was a loaded question, more so than he'd intended, and a slightly awkward silent moment passed before he clarified his meaning.

"I mean… I'll take you home?"

She nodded.

"Right." He started driving, unnerved by the silence that filled the car. He wished she'd say something, anything, about what had happened. They'd kissed. Held hands. Watched the sun set together. This was well beyond the bounds of anything their relationship had ever been before. It could change everything. Or it could change nothing.

She was obviously emotionally vulnerable right now. Had he taken advantage of that? She'd initiated the kiss, but it wasn't like he'd tried to stop her. Was she sorry it had happened at all? Was he? _No. God no. _It had felt good. It had felt right. But still, if she wanted to pretend it never happened, he could allow her that. The circumstances were weird and they both knew it. The planets would just have to align again at a more conventional time. And they would. He knew they would. He had to believe that.

"Do you want me to drop you off?" he asked as they finally neared her building again. "You can finally have your alone time?"

She looked at him, her face utterly expressionless. Unreadable even by Castle, the one who'd been studying her for so long. "Do you want to go?"

He didn't. He didn't at all. But part of him felt like he should. He was desperately afraid of getting carried away, that he would go too far. That he'd already gone too far. He was afraid that if he moved too fast, she would draw back, push him away. If he went home, it would give them both time to process, to get their footing. To think about what had happened, and figure out what it meant to them. But he didn't _want_ time, and he didn't want space. "Only if you want me to," he said, putting the ball back in her court.

She sighed, and he could've sworn he caught a glimpse of a smile out of the corner of his eye as he focused on the road. "I'm okay. You don't need to…"

He interrupted her struggle to find the words. "That's not what I asked. I asked if you _wanted_ me to come in."

She nodded. "Okay. Yeah. For a little while."

"Sounds good." He pulled into the building's lot, parked, and walked with her back to her apartment, not holding her hand this time. When they got to the door, a huge arrangement of assorted colorful flowers in a pretty basket was already there waiting for them.

She stared at it for a second before turning to him. "Did you do this?"

"Geez, Lou's fast," he mumbled, looking at the basket, filled with some of the florist's best work. He picked up his head and looked at Beckett. "I didn't think they'd be here this soon."

"When did you—"

"I told Lou to send something here when you weren't paying attention," he said, interrupting her. "I just figured, since you weren't going to get to really enjoy the ones we bought…"

"Castle, this is too much," she said. But she was smiling.

He shrugged, also smiling, pleased that she liked it, regardless of what she said. "I'm good with that."

She shook her head, but picked up the basket and opened the door to her apartment. He followed her inside and sat on the couch while she positioned the basket on the coffee table. Finally she sat down as well, also on the couch, but leaving some space between them.

"Look Kate," he started, determined to get this out before he changed his mind, "about what happened earlier… it's okay if you want to pretend it didn't. I'd understand."

The corner of her mouth twitched upward. "I don't."

Castle's mind went blank. He hadn't expected this response. "You… you what now?"

"I don't want to pretend it didn't happen." She bit her lip. "Why, do you?"

"No! No, I just thought… _I_ don't…"

Now it was her turn to save him from his struggle for words, which was ironic because Castle never struggled with words. "I kissed you, remember? And I'm not taking anything back."

"So… we go forward."

She nodded, considering his words. "Forward. Yeah." Her face hardened. "But no mention of this at the precinct tomorrow. Not any of it. Not even that you were here."

"Understood. But I, uh, kind of freaked out this morning when no one knew where you were, and I told Lanie that I'd let her know when I found out what you were up to."

"I'll take care of Lanie. Anyone else asks, just make something up. You're good at that."

He smiled. "I am."

"Nothing too off-the-wall."

He laughed. That thought hadn't even crossed his mind. Yet. "I promise."

"Good." She absently twirled the ends of her hair through her fingers, and he could tell she was thinking about saying something else, so he kept quiet, waiting for her. "Rick, I really want to thank you—"

He cut her off. "Don't. It's not necessary."

"Just let me finish. You've done so much more today than you realize. You made it tolerable. You made parts of it _good._ And you got me to think about my mom's life, not just her death. I never would've thought I could do that today, but you know what? It helps. And your being here helps."

She brushed away a few stray tears, and he put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm glad," he said simply.

She scooted closer to him and let her head rest on his shoulder as he stroked hers. They sat like this for an indefinite amount of time before she suddenly got up, startling him. "Be right back."

He watched her until she disappeared around a corner, wondering where in the world she could possibly be going. But it wasn't more than a few seconds before she reemerged with a yellow legal pad and a pen. She sat down again and positioned the pad so he could easily read over her shoulder. She poised the pen as though ready to start writing, but after a moment passed and she hadn't, she turned to him, looking a little frustrated. "What do I call it?"

He frowned, immediately confused. "What do you call what?"

She gave him the same exasperated look he'd seen so many times before. "That thing you told me to write earlier. The memory thing. You know, about my mom? What do I call it?"

He smiled. He'd almost forgotten he'd given her this suggestion, and was pleasantly surprised at how seriously she'd apparently taken it. "Right. Why do you have to call it anything?"

She frowned. "It has to have a title."

"Why?"

"Because things have titles."

"Okay, writing one-oh-one. A lot of writers, myself included, come up with the title last. You don't necessarily need to start there. And besides, you're writing this for yourself, right? You don't _need_ to have a title. You don't need to do anything you don't want to do."

"What if I want to give it a title?"

He shook his head. "You are a very stubborn woman."

"Oh, I'm sorry, does that surprise you?"

He smiled. "Not at all. If you need to call it something, you can come up with a working title. It can be anything, the first thing that comes into your head, and when you think of something better, you can change it."

"Okay… like what?"

If this was going to work, he was really going to have to work on her creativity. "I don't know, 'Kate's Story.' Anything. Whatever you want."

She nodded and finally started writing. When she moved her hand, he read the title she'd written at the top of the page in neat script. "Johanna's Story."

He smiled. She'd taken his offhand suggestion and tweaked it a little. That would work.

But when she looked up to get his approval, his eyebrows twitched at another observation he was making, and she immediately became self-conscious. "What? Is there something wrong with that?" she demanded.

"No, no, it's perfect."

"Then what was with the face?"

"I've just never seen you use cursive before. When you write on the murder board it's always printed, all caps."

She shrugged. "Keeps things neat."

He nodded. "I got it. Just an observation."

She looked at the paper for another minute, and then looked at him again. "What now? Where do I start?"

He smiled. "I have never seen you this confused before."

Her eyes widened in frustration. "I've never done anything like this before, I don't know what I'm doing."

"That's kind of my point. I've never seen you not know what you're doing."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm glad you're enjoying this. Now where do I start?"

"Start wherever you want, you're writing it."

"At the beginning?"

"Sure."

She looked at the paper for another few seconds. "What's the beginning?"

"Kate, just write something," he laughed. "The first thing that comes to mind. Anything you remember. Then maybe that will spark something else, and you can work from there. It doesn't have to be in any kind of order. Just write."

"Can't you give me some kind of an idea? Just to get me started?"

"I don't know how, I don't know what you're trying to remember." He watched her struggle for another few seconds before he did have an idea. "Or maybe I do. Why don't you start with the windows, and the library? It's fresh in your mind, we were just there. Describe it. Describe what it was like when you were there with your mom."

She nodded and wrote the word "Library" on the next line, like a subtitle. But then she stalled again.

"Remember when you were explaining what we were doing there to me earlier? Start there. Pretend you're talking to someone if it helps, but write it down."

She looked away from the page and met his eyes. "Just jump in?"

He smiled. "Absolutely. Jump in."

She paused for another half second, returned his smile, and began writing.

* * *

_And that's all, folks! I totally just killed the mood there, didn't I? I did. I killed it. Oh well. I didn't realize it until I went back to edit this, but I think I was sort of subconsciously channeling the Castle writers with that ending. I mean, not subconsciously exactly... good fanfiction channels the actual writers all the time... but I mean in that it's all about the subtext. Which I'm positive you figured out. It's not hard subtext, by any stretch. I kind of like it that way, though. Obviously. It's the last chapter. If I wasn't fully satisfied with it, I wouldn't be posting it._

_Anyway. That wasn't the important part. Apparently I'm going to take forever to get to the important part. So like I'm pretty sure I said after the last chapter, my goal with this one was kind of to tie up some loose ends. I wanted to shed a bit more light on the kiss and what it meant to them, and I wanted to revisit the idea of Beckett writing about her mom as a way to remember with Castle's help, just to kind of bring things full-circle. And in one respect, it worked just like I wanted it to. I think the writing was a good way to end the day, and the story. BUT, (here comes the potentially important part) I had so much fun playing with the idea of Beckett writing and Castle helping her that I kind of want to continue with it. So I started kicking around the idea of writing a sequel. I actually started plotting it out a little bit, and the idea is sounding better and better to me by the second._

_It would pick up with Castle and Beckett's relationship right where this one is leaving off, and I'd get to develop that a little, but the dominant thing would be the story. I'm not exactly sure how it would work out yet, but I think I'd like to actually put in parts of the story as she writes it, so I'd get to kind of explore her past a little as Castle learns more about it. Tone-wise, it would be considerably lighter and fluffier than this one was, but there'd be some substance there too. I'm excited about it now, so I'm probably going to do it, but I'd love to hear what you think of the idea (as well as what you think of this chapter, obviously!). If I do decide to do it, it probably won't come out for a little while yet, mostly because the idea of only having one story to worry about updating sounds REALLY appealing right now, but I like having ideas queued up. And who knows, if I start writing it and get too excited to wait (which happens a lot, actually...), it might happen sooner than I think. So you know, if you're interested, just keep half an eye out for it. I also try to keep a record of what I'm working on on my profile page (I haven't updated it in awhile, but I'm going to do that as soon as I finish posting this...), so if I'm going to do it it'll probably show up there before too long. :)_

_Again, thanks so much for reading and reviewing, you're awesome!_


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